Archive of Our Own

“Oh God, oh yes.” Jim panted beneath him, consumed with pleasure. “Don’t hold back!”

I am always holding back, Ashayam, Spock thought. Outwardly, he increased the speed and force of his thrusts, slamming Jim into the bed with his hips over and over again. Though Jim knew he couldn’t match Spock’s pace, he would always attempt to thrust back, so Spock held him still by his hips. The bruises he left were entirely intentional.

Soon, Jim’s breathing increased, and his hands grasped for purchase in the tangled sheets. He is close. Spock released one hip and reached for Jim’s neglected cock. Instantly, Jim moaned at the added stimulus. In time with his thrusts, Spock stroked Jim’s cock until he was coming undone in his arms. Consumed by Jim’s ecstasy, Spock leaned forward and bit the juncture of his neck, intensifying Jim’s orgasm and setting off his own.

In that moment, they were one. Their bodies were connected, and their minds were in harmony through shared pleasure. Even without telepathy, they could be joined by sharing this.

Spock tried to tell himself it was enough. Those moments of unity were more than he’d ever anticipated. They had to be enough.

However, like all of their encounters, it was over too soon. Jim would come down from his euphoria and leave. This time, he laughed and said, “Spock, I can’t leave until you get off me.”

Then, I shall never move again. Despite his thoughts, Spock pulled out and rolled off Jim. “Of course. Pardon me: I am merely fatigued.”

Jim sat up, raising his arms up in a stretch. “Yeah, I get it, which is why we gotta get moving soon after. Or else we’ll fall asleep.”

Is the thought truly so unacceptable? “Indeed.”

Gathering his clothes from the floor, Jim asked, “Is it alright if I use the shower first?”

Why must you wash away my scent so soon? “Of course.”

“Thanks!” With that, he disappeared into their shared bathroom.

In a moment, one could hear the sound of cascading water and—if one was listening hard, like Spock was—quiet humming. Spock laid back in his bed. He tried to merely process physical sensations: the texture of the sheets, his scent mingling with Jim’s, the muffled humming. Unfortunately, his mind wandered, becoming listless.

It had been 20.473 days since he and Jim had added a new layer to their friendship, and it was both a wondrous and torturous thing. After their shifts, Spock could finally touch and kiss and worship his beloved. He was given the privilege of pleasuring this incredible being, and he reveled in the experience.

That being said, there was always a part of him that was…hurt by their encounters. He was hurt because their encounters were only skin-deep. He was hurt by the fact that Jim never stayed once they were through. He was hurt by how quickly Jim washed away the evidence of their coupling. He was hurt because this all meant so much more to him than it ever would to Jim.

Spock tried to reason away the pain. He was being illogical: their couplings were cause to rejoice. He had never expected to share these intimacies with Jim. Each kiss, caress, and barest brush of skin were a gift. A precious morsel he was privileged to have.

Reaching up to his chest, Spock pressed the love bite Jim had given him during their foreplay. The stinging sensation deepened the aching in his heart, but he needed to feel it.

Jim knew Spock liked giving and receiving marks. He had not asked why, and Spock was thankful for this. I am in love with you, and you have marked my entire being to the point where a physical mark seems like a natural extension of this, was probably not an acceptable answer. No matter how true it was.

From the beginning, Jim had changed him. He challenged him in ways that demanded Spock adapt, lest he be outpaced. At first, this had irritated Spock to no end. Who was this man that he was allowed to act in this manner? Who allowed him to reach into other beings and rearrange them? How could he do this so easily, so thoughtlessly?

Spock had spent many hours mapping his thoughts of Jim Kirk, their progression. It was as he learned of Jim’s kindness, his bravery, his intelligence, that Spock ceased being annoyed by the phenomenon. Instead, he was proud. He was proud to be so thoroughly a part of James T. Kirk’s life to be influenced by him. Without a doubt, Spock was a kinder, better person because of him. Food was more satisfying, meditations more restful, the very universe was brighter because Spock knew and was changed by Jim.

Spock was marked. His entire being—body, mind, and katra—sang for Jim and Jim alone.

Spock could only dream of returning the favor.

A person as free as Jim could not be tied to another. No, Jim was like a force of nature: belonging to no one and affecting everyone. He was the sun: warm, brilliant, and completely out of reach.

The water stopped. The bathroom door unlocked, signaling that it was Spock’s turn. He sighed: he did not want to clean up. He wanted to keep each and every scrap of evidence of their coupling; nevertheless, he forced himself up. Because Jim would be suspicious if he didn’t, he took his shower. He cleaned up his clothes from the floor and replaced the dirty sheets.

He did not, however, replace the pillow covers. Thus, Jim’s scent surrounded him as he drifted off to sleep.

Let this be enough.

****

The Enterprise's missions rarely unfolded how one would expect them to. Such was the case with this one: they’d received word of an aggressive, unreasonable people who would sooner kill their kin than negotiate. Instead, they found a reasonable—if not terrified and traumatized—world. They were the unfortunate victims of misunderstandings and misinformation. With a couple short talks, the misunderstandings were cleared up. A treaty was signed.

Naturally, the people were incredibly thankful for the Enterprise’s aid; furthermore, they insisted on throwing a celebration in their honor.

The celebration was not as enjoyable for Spock as it was for his crewmates. He was not one for loud or chaotic things. Well, he was not one for most loud and chaotic things. There was one exception, and he was currently flirting with one of their hosts, which did nothing to improve Spock’s impression of the event.

Loosening his grip on his drink, Spock attempted to keep his eyes off the pair. They had been inseparable for most of the night: sharing food, leaning into each other’s space, sharing little touches. Spock knew this dance of seduction. He had seen it many times before. Jim had pulled many a lover into his bed with that dance, and Spock hated it. Every time, he burned with jealous rage at whoever had taken Jim’s attention this time. He wanted to tear them apart. He wanted to pull Jim away from these people who did not truly know him. Did not truly care for him. Not the way Spock did.

Yet, who was he to blame these people? They did not know of Spock’s love for Jim. Even if they did, it wouldn’t matter. Jim had not committed himself to Spock. Jim was not his.

Unconsciously, Spock’s eyes wandered back to Jim, falling on the collar of his dress uniform. It was illogical for him to do so because he knew the marks were gone. Somehow, it still caused Spock’s heart to constrict painfully.

During the second instance of their coupling, Jim had noticed the marks on Spock, and Spock had noticed an absence of marks on Jim. Their first coupling had been a wild, passionate affair. Naturally, bruises were left on both of them, yet Jim’s skin was unmarked. As if Spock had never touched it.

Luckily, Jim’s own confusion had prevented him from noticing Spock’s heart breaking before his eyes. “Aren't lovebites a bit too sentimental for Vulcans?”

Spock cleared his throat. “On the contrary, using a dermal regenerator for such minor contusions would be a waste of resources. I take it you disagree.”

Jim shrugged. “People don’t need to know my personal life. Besides, it’s just sex.”

“A reasonable outlook.” Spock said despite feeling as if Jim had set the broken pieces of his heart on fire.

They didn’t speak of it again. Yet, Spock was sure Jim remembered: he never left any marks that Spock couldn’t hide under a uniform.

The counselor Jim was speaking to slung an arm around his shoulders, his fingers gently brushing against the skin where Spock had left a mark not ten hours ago.

With that, it all became too much. Spock left the celebration and beamed up to the Enterprise. Morose, he shuffled back to his quarters. He stripped himself down to his underwear and collapsed onto the bed without bothering to meditate or shower or anything. He simply laid in the bed, breathing in Jim’s scent from his pillows and trying not to imagine that scent mixed with another’s.

2.491 hours later, Spock was still awake and wallowing when Jim entered. His hair was in disarray, his lips were tinted in kiss-pink, and a mark was blooming on his neck.

“You up for a round or two?” Jim did not wait for an answer, already pulling his shirt over his head and then kicking off his boots.

“Yes,” Spock replied without thinking. He needed to reclaim his mate. He needed to rewrite whatever that interloper had done. Whatever marks, whatever pleasure Jim had received, Spock would replace it tenfold.

As Jim crawled into bed, Spock sat up and reached for him. He half dragged Jim into his lap. Immediately, Spock locks their lips together with bruising force. Your lips will be red because I made them so. He grabbed fistfuls of Jim’s golden hair. Only my hands should take this hold. He forced his tongue past those pink lips: he tasted of fruit and lipstick. It was the wrong taste. It was not Jim’s taste.

Spock keened like he suffered a physical blow.

Unable to bear the taste of another in Jim’s mouth, he tore away, panting like a wild creature. It was that moment that he truly caught Jim’s scent. Like always, he smelled of pine and a natural musk. The slightly sweet scent of arousal tinted it along with the scent of the interloper, but there wasn’t that heavy, heady scent. That distinct scent of sex was absent, and Spock nearly cried with relief.

Somehow, this did not tamp down Spock’s urgency. Jim had not been claimed by another, but it had been close. His instincts screamed at him to claim Jim before it was too late. For the moment, Spock ignored the complexity of his situation and listened to his instincts. He began by sucking bruises into Jim’s neck. He started with the hideous reminder of Jim’s recent conquest. Covering the whole mark with his mouth, Spock bit down. Jim moaned, grinding down on him. Then, Spock sucked on it, intensifying the bruising. He repeated this on the skin surrounding the mark. Every bite and suck drawing a moan from Jim.

“Jeez, Spock. Are you trying to make my neck one big hickey?” Despite his words, Jim did not push him away. He kept grinding his ass on Spock’s erection.

If that is what marks you as mine, Spock thought. He did not say anything outloud. Instead, he kept marking Jim while toying with the hem of his boxers. Jim lifted his hips enough for Spock to slide the garment down. It was removed enough to reveal Jim’s delectable posterior and erect penis, but he did not bother removing it all the way.

He reached into his own underwear to gather some natural lubricant. Spock moaned as his lok and hand rubbed together. Jim took the opportunity to lean forward and bite Spock’s ear, intensifying his pleasure.

It also put Jim’s posterior in an excellent position for preparation. Spock brought his lubricated hand from his underwear and then probed Jim’s entrance with a finger. The blond moaned, unabashedly into Spock’s ear, a wordless urging to begin preparation.

Jim once called Spock a “worrywart” for how long he took to prepare Jim. Spock cited the many possible injuries one could suffer with improper preparation; however, he had other reasons. Were poems meant to be skimmed? Were symphonies a race against the conductor? One did not rush art, and opening up Jim to accept his lok was an art. The most beautiful paintings could not compare to Jim’s head thrown back in ecstasy. No symphony was as sweet as the gasp Jim gave when fingers brushed against his prostate. Such an experience was meant to be savored.

His fingers stroked and caressed and spread the muscle until it was loose and Jim was on the brink of orgasm. Despite his original snubbing of the act, fingering always brought Jim close. He’d start off just as aggressive and demanding as Spock, but—by the time he was ready—he’d be trembling head-to-toe, only able to pant and hold on for dear life. This time, he was clutching Spock’s shoulders. The way his fingers dug in would probably leave bruises. The thought brought Spock such joy that he kissed Jim’s sweat-soaked forehead.

Letting Jim breathe for a moment, he simply stroked his ashayam’s back. He was tempted to let some of his love in through their contact, but was not their relationship. Such a gesture was for bondmates. They were not bondmates. It was “just sex.” Spock would have to substitute by tracing Vulcan poetry onto his skin: a fitting substitute because it meant many things to Spock and nothing to Jim.

“I’m ready.”

So, Spock shimmied down his boxers until his lok was all the way out. Then, he guided Jim’s hips until his entrance was lined up with Spock’s lok. Jim attempted to sink down onto it, but Spock held on tight. “Impatient.”

“Just fuck me.”

Spock obliged. Using gravity and his considerable strength, he brought Jim down hard and fast. The blond howled. But Spock did not pause this time. Controlling the rhythm, he slammed into Jim over and over and over again. Jim was practically possessed by his pleasure and could only moan and writhe and clutch Spock’s shoulders in a vice grip.

Jim came with a wail all over Spock’s chest. The display and the contractions around his lok soon sent Spock over the edge too.

Involuntarily, Spock’s hand moved to caress the marks he’d left on Jim’s neck. Or, perhaps it was more accurate to call it one mark. It did not have clear boundaries between bites and covered at least a third of Jim’s neck. Satisfaction mixed with guilt was an odd feeling.

“One big hickey.” Jim murmured from his place against Spock’s shoulder.

“Indeed.”

No doubt, the mark would be gone in the morning. Spock would be illogically hurt by this, but he would not stop marking Jim. It was a poor substitute for how he really wanted to mark him—wanted to bind them mind and katra, to do for Jim what Jim did for Spock—nevertheless, this would have to be enough. He would have to settle for this physical, temporary alternative until Jim eventually tired of him.

He only hoped he would be strong enough when the time came.

****

The Enterprise's missions rarely unfolded how one would expect them to. An uninhabited, idyllic world was reported by the previous ship. They had missed the society beneath the surface. The society had not missed them and prepared to face the “demons” once they returned. Before a word could be said, the entire away team was fired upon with primitive projectiles. Four were dead. The two survivors were injured, Jim among them.

The physical injuries were easily healed. Guilt was not so easily vanquished. Especially for Jim.

Since he was an exceptional captain, Jim did his best to not worry the crew. He was respectfully solemn in public, but not overcome with his grief. In the privacy of his quarters, it was another matter. Dr. McCoy knew this too and intervened when Jim decided to “drink the pain away.” Spock could hear the argument from his room, which involved much screaming and eventually led to a drunken Jim stumbling through the bathroom into Spock’s quarters.

“Fuck me,” he slurred as he leaned into the doorway for support.

Spock, who had been sitting at his desk, blinked once and then gave a simple, “No.”

“‘N why not?”

“You are intoxicated.”

“I’m fine.” Jim insisted.

“No.”

“C’mon, Spock.” Jim was pleading now, his voice breaking. “I—I just need to stop feeling.”

“Then, you would not be human.” And you would not be Jim.

Jim slid down the doorway until he was sitting, staring blankly at the wall. “Don’ wanna be human.”

“A sentiment I too have considered.” Spock rose from his chair in order to join Jim and kneel at his side. “You were instrumental in convincing me that such a notion is foolish.”

A sheen of tears welled up in his eyes until they overflowed, traveling down his cheeks. Spock raised two fingers to brush them away. “They’re dead.”

“Yes.”

The tears continued flowing, and Spock wiped away each one. Then, Jim raised his arms and looked at Spock expectantly.

“I have already refused intercourse.”

“No, I—hug? Please?”

Unable to refuse such a request, Spock carefully wrapped himself around Jim. He smelled of alcohol and sweat. That piney bodywash almost completely faded. Although the alcohol undoubtedly weakened him, Jim still held onto Spock for tightly while sobbing into his chest.

Spock did not know how long one maintains a hug in these circumstances. He assumed, eventually, Jim would tell Spock it was over; however—once the sobs faded—Jim did not move. He merely tucked himself against Spock’s chest and fell asleep.

In the privacy of his room, Spock allowed himself a small smile. It was pleasing to be so trusted. He carefully arranged Jim in his arms and walked through their shared bathroom. On the other side, Jim’s room reeked of liquor, and there was broken glass on the floor. Spock walked back through the bathroom and laid Jim down in his own bed. He fetched a glass of water and some headache medicine, putting them on the nightstand.

Then, he went back to Jim’s room and cleaned up what was likely a shattered bottle of liquor.

Once he was done, he briefly considered laying beside Jim. It was a tempting option; nonetheless, he did not know how it would be received. He decided to meditate and work on paperwork instead. Sleep could wait.

****

2.763 days later, Spock was regretting his decision to not join Jim in bed. Or simply placing Jim in his own bed. No, he had allowed his feelings to overcome his reasoning, and he was suffering the consequences. Of course Jim would not be comfortable with waking up in Spock’s bed! He had explicitly avoided it in the past. Jim was also extremely uncomfortable with others seeing him in moments of weakness. Of course he wouldn’t appreciate Spock caring for him during a crisis.

Jim was avoiding him. He had woken in Spock’s bed, groggy and in pain. Then, he caught sight of Spock. He’d let out a quiet “Wha?” before his eyes lit with remembrance, causing him to sprint out of the room.

Spock had not seen Jim since.

He did not regret caring for Jim. He only regretted not being more discreet about it.

Sitting at his desk once more, Spock was contemplating the 435th version of how he could have avoided this scenario when Jim showed up. Again, it was through the bathroom door, except he was not drunk this time. He was stone-cold sober. He was also wearing a robe.

Spock jumped up, ready to apologize for the previous night—he had rehearsed several versions in his head. But Jim spoke before he could. “Thanks for the other night. I was a mess and you stopped me from being all kinds of stupid.”

Startled, Spock did not answer for a couple moments. “No thanks are necessary. It is, I believe, ‘what friends are for.’”

“Still, thanks. Sorry for running out," Jim rubbed the back of his neck in a nervous gesture, "I was embarrassed.”

“I see.” Spock understood this. He too was a private person; however, Spock could not help being slightly bereft at the thought that he was not the exception as Jim was for him.

Jim slipped off his robe to reveal his glorious naked form. “Now that I’ve processed it all, I want to thank you properly.”

“Oh?” Spock's heart rate increased and his lok began hardening.

Jim sauntered closer, leaning into Spock’s personal space with a confident grin. “Yup, but I have a condition.”

Anything! “What is the condition?”

“I get to be in control tonight. Let me do everything. You can still ask for things or say no, but let me take the wheel.” As he spoke, he toyed with the collar of Spock’s uniform shirt.

“Neither of us has such an apparatus.” Spock replies breathily.

“What do you say?”

“Aye, Captain.”

Jim smiled up at him before sinking to his knees. Immediately, he mouthed Spock’s semi-hard lok through the uniform pants. The unexpected pressure and warmth had Spock moaning. Once Spock was close to coming—despite the clothes barrier—Jim pulled back long enough to tear down Spock’s pants with his underwear. Then, he pulled Spock’s legs out from under him, toppling him into his office chair.

While Spock remained in a daze, Jim removed his boots, pants, and underwear completely. Spock would have expected Jim to go back to sucking his lok. After all, Jim was a fairly direct person. He instead started ministrations up Spock’s legs. Licking, kissing, biting. By the time he was facing Spock’s lok once more, there were marks trailing from his ankles to the juncture between thigh and torso.

Jim did not immediately take Spock into his mouth. No, he licked the head like a lollipop, swirling his tongue over and around it. He tongued under the ridges, causing an involuntary jerk of Spock’s hips. Jim responded to this by grabbing both hips and squeezing as hard as he could. A clear message: stay still.

This command was difficult to follow because then Jim took Spock into his mouth, destroying most of the control he had over his body.

Without input from his frontal cortex, Spock's body was writhing and panting. His hands found their way into Jim’s hair, urging him to take Spock’s lok deeper. He did his best to not choke his ashayam, but he could not be held responsible for merely reacting to the most wonderful creature in the universe. Jim didn’t seem to mind. He merely sucked Spock deeper and deeper until—

Spock screamed his release, as his seed shot down Jim’s throat.

Jim removed himself from the softening lok, licking his lips.

“That was—I—thank you.”

Jim smirked. “It’s not over yet.”

Spock inhaled sharply, voice wavering. “More?”

“Oh yeah. Take off your shirts and lay on the bed. On your stomach.”

Nearly tripping over his still wobbly legs, Spock stumbled to the bed. He threw his shirts aside and scrambled onto the covers.

Jim’s melodious laughter filled the room. “Eager, aren’t we?”

“You are aware of your own prowess.”

Jim’s soft, firm body pressed into his own, his cock pressing between Spock’s cheeks. Voice husky and breathless, Jim whispered into his ear, “Boy, am I ever.”

Apparently, Spock had not learned his lesson. He expected a rough, hasty fucking. Then, Jim’s thighs slotted on each side. The wet heat of Jim’s tongue licked up Spock’s ear until he got to the tip—where he bit down. Ah, yes. This is a gift. Jim was playing to Spock’s preferences.

Starting with his ears, Jim gave Spock’s dorsal side the same treatment as his legs. Kissing, licking, and biting Spock’s neck, to his shoulders, all the way down his spine to Spock’s ass.

“Am I to be—Ah!—pene—oh—trated?”

The ministrations stopped, and Spock regretted the question. “Do you want to be?”

“Yes.”

Perhaps, Spock did not know Jim as well as he thought he did. He expected a finger or Jim’s cock. He did not expect Jim to stick his tongue into Spock’s rectum!

An abysmal whimper escaped Spock, making Jim smile into his work.

Spock would have thought himself more patient when on the receiving end of preparation. He had a new respect for Jim’s endurance: it was not long before Spock was begging for Jim’s cock.

“Pleasepleaseplease. AshayAAAAAaaaammmm!!!”

Jim removed his face from Spock’s ass, laughing. “I got you swearing in Vulcan. Wow!”

“Pleeee—AH!” Jim had reached beneath Spock and gathered a handful of lubricant. He would be lubricating himself with Spock’s lubricant. He was interrupted from this arousing thought when Jim finally entered him, and it was—he was— “Ohhhhhhhhhhhh…”

Jim groaned himself, sending a frisson of pride through Spock. Out of all the creatures in the universe, Spock was the one joined to Jim in this moment. Then, Jim’s hips began rolling in a slow, torturous rhythm.

Spock knew he was not supposed to take control. He just. He needed to feel more. He needed it to be harder, faster. Desperate for more of these sensations, Spock bent his knees and rocked backward.

At the first rock, Jim pulled out. “Naughty, naughty. Impatient much?”

“Please.” Spock was not above begging. He was well past dignity.

“Nope!” There was a smile in his voice. His ashayam was enjoying this. “Flip over.”

Bereft yet compliant, Spock turned onto his back. He was immediately rewarded with a smiling Jim kneeling above him. It almost made up for not being penetrated. Almost. Then, Jim’s lips were on his own, and there was a tongue exploring his mouth that tasted of Spock.

He no longer missed the penetration.

After a thorough exploration of each other’s mouths, Jim began his ministrations down Spock’s front. It was all incredible. Spock was especially interested when Jim’s mouth neared his lok once more. Jim’s teasing mouth gave it one, long lick before sitting back up.

Spock whined.

“Don’t worry, hun. You’ll like this.” Jim reached behind himself as he spoke. Was he going to prepare himself? No, he removed an object—a plug—from his posterior. Then, he lined himself up with Spock’s lok. “I’ll even let you flip us if I get too slow.” Jim sank down, and Spock screamed once more.

That torturous pace was resumed. No doubt, purposefully designed to drive Spock to the brink of insanity. Except, this time, Spock could do something about it. A fortunate thing because he did not last a full minute before reversing their positions. Jim’s laugh quickly turned to moaning as Spock drove in like his life depended on it.

Gripping Jim’s wrists, Spock pounded into him with wild abandon, praising his love in his native tongue.

They both came spectacularly. Jim all over Spock and Spock deep inside Jim.

Spock collapsed, entirely spent by the encounter. He was drifting into a restful sleep when Jim said, “Hey, Spock. Can you let me up?”

Oh, right. “Of course. My apologies.” Spock had forgotten. He pulled out and rolled to the side.

“It’s no problem.” Jim rushed into the bathroom, grabbing his robe on his way out.

Water began running. Spock sighed. How could he have forgotten their arrangement? He had been actively shielding during the entire encounter. He would not do that if they were true bondmates.

Spock was entirely wrapped up in his self-pity that he did not notice Jim’s return until he was at Spock’s bedside. He wore the robe again, but his hair was still dry. There was a towel in his hand. “You shouldn’t sleep with that stuff on you. Let me help.” He gently wiped off the fluids from Spock’s body. Almost reverently.

“Thank you.” Spock whispered, enraptured by the gentle care.

“Welcome,” He yawned, stretching theatrically. “I’m beat. Can I crash with you tonight?”

Spock does not comment on the negligible distance from his bed to Jim’s. He merely nods. Jim dropped the towel and then climbed into bed, snuggling right up to Spock. Slowly, hesitantly, Spock wrapped his arms around Jim. Was this real? Had his consciousness been trapped in a paradise of its own creation?

“Night, Spock.”

He looked down at the golden head tucked against his side and decided not to question his fortune. “Goodnight, Jim.”

****

The next morning, all traces of Jim were gone. The towel. The robe. The only thing left was his scent.

Spock sighed. It was an improvement, but he did not enjoy waking to an empty bed.

He forced himself to rise. The soreness was proof of the previous night. As were the countless marks littering his body. In the mirror, he noticed they even went beyond his collar. Another improvement.

Jim’s side of the bathroom opened. They stared at each other for a moment, Spock taking in Jim’s pristine uniform while Jim observed Spock’s naked, bruised body.

There were no smiles. There were no laughs. Jim averted his eyes and brought his hands behind his back. “There’s something I need to say.”

Spock was confused but always open to being Jim’s confidant. “I am listening.”

Jim took a deep breath. “What we’ve been for the past couple months. It’s not—it’s not working for me. I think we should go back to just being friends.”

Spock had convinced himself that, when this moment came, he would be accepting. He had known from the start that he could never possess James T. Kirk. No one could. That did not make it any easier to have the wounds in his heart gouged back open.

“I see…Did I commit an error of some kind?”

That brought a smile to Jim’s face, albeit a sad one. “No, I just—it was just sex. I told myself ‘it was just sex.’” He looked into Spock’s eyes once more, that impossible blue reflecting a great sadness. A mourning. “But it never was ‘just sex.’ Not with these,” He waved his hand between them, “feelings.”

Spock’s eyes widened. He knew! Jim knew, and he was ending their physical relationship because of it. When had Spock slipped up? Was it obvious from the start and Jim merely decided it was a problem now? “I would think, as a human, you would rejoice in feelings.”

“Kinda hard to ‘rejoice’ in something that's painful.”

Well, he had Spock there. Of course, Jim would object to Spock’s pain, and Spock could not deny that their arrangement caused him pain. It was a sacrifice Spock was willing to make, but Jim had always objected to Spock making sacrifices. “Should you change your mind, I would be most willing to resume our arrangement.”

“Thanks, but I don’t think I can. See you around Spock.”

And then he left Spock there. Spock called in sick that day. He spent the time pressing each and every mark, to feel the sting of what had been.

****

The next few days were a blur. Crewmates tried to tease and wheedle Spock about the marks. He did not respond. Uhura questioned his emotional state. He did not respond. Dr. McCoy insulted him. He did not respond.

He mechanically went about his days, not feeling or thinking beyond what was necessary. Jim was avoiding him again, which made the task easier. There was no blazing, glorious sun to melt the wall of ice he had constructed.

An entire week passed by in this state: this emotionless limbo. Was this what kolinahr was like? Was it empty and numb like Spock was?

Spock would have continued in this state indefinitely had he not accidentally come across Jim helping a crewmember fix an access panel. All of the emotions and thoughts came rushing back, momentarily fixing Spock in place. He wanted to flee, but he was enraptured by the easy smile of his ashayam. It hurt so much to see him, yet it gave Spock life again.

Then, he saw it. Jim’s sleeves were rolled up for the manual labor. They were nearly gone, yellowing and blending into Jim’s tan skin. But they were there. In the shape of Spock’s hands, were bruises on Jim’s wrists.

Without thought, Spock takes hold of Jim’s arm and yanks him away from the work.

“What? Hey! Spock—what the—let go!”

Spock did not let go. He spotted an empty conference room and dragged Jim inside. He locked the door with his highest security and then planted himself between Jim and the door. “Explain.”

“Explain what?” Jim snapped back.

“Why do you sport my marks?”

Jim seemed taken aback, but he easily fell back into defensiveness. “So it’s fine for you to keep your hickeys, but I can’t, huh?”

“You are allowed to do as you please. I merely require an explanation.”

“Come on!" Jim folded his arms. "Do you really not get it?”

“Affirmative.”

Jim pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “You can’t be this clueless.”

“You stated previously that one does not usually keep marks with ‘just sex.’ Yet—”

“It was never ‘just sex,’ Spock! It’s never ‘just’ anything with you! We can’t be ‘just’ coworkers or ‘just’ friends or have ‘just’ sex. It’s always big, ride-or-die emotions, and I can’t handle it! Not when I’m the only one feeling them. You’re a stoic, Vulcan monolith, and it’s not fair that I’m the only one tossed round by my emotions.”

One portion of the impassioned speech stuck out to Spock. “Your emotions?”

“Yes, Spock. My emotions. God, you didn’t even know, did you? Un-fucking-believable. You have been all over my body. You have had your goddamn cock up my ass, a fucking antenna for touch telepathy, and you didn’t know?!”

“Vulcan emotions are stronger than human ones." Spock replied in his defense. "During high-intensity moments, they can overpower emotions picked up from other species. And I constructed numerous shields in respect of your privacy.”

“Oh," Apparently, it had not occurred to Jim that Spock would take such steps. He now looked very uncomfortable, shifting his weight between his feet. "Well, thanks.”

“You are welcome." Jim had emotions about Spock. Strong emotions. He did not dare hope, but he needed to know. "You have not clarified why you kept my marks.”

“Really? You can’t guess?”

“I would hear it from you directly.” No more guesses. He needed to know.

Jim placed his face in his hands. “You and your damned curiosity. I swear, I won’t be able to look you in the eye after this.”

“That is not unlike our situation for the past week.”

“Shut up. I’m only saying this once because I’m going to launch myself out of an airlock after this." He lowered his hands but did not look at Spock. He was staring at the almost-healed bruises on his wrists. "I guess…I guess I kept them for the same reason I got rid of the others. I just love you so much, and it’s written everywhere inside my head and heart that it was hard to see it on my skin. Especially when it didn’t mean the same thing to you. Then, I ended it." He caressed the outline of the bruise on his right wrist. "These were the last ones. I had to keep them.”

The knowledge of his requited feelings propelled Spock forward, encasing Jim in his embrace. “Please, do not launch yourself into space, Ashayam. I love you too.”

“I wasn’t really gonna do it." Jim mumbled against his chest. "You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I am not lying." Spock drew back slightly and raised his hand in a melding gesture. "Allow me to show you.”

Jim eyed Spock’s hand warily. For a heart-stopping moment, Spock feared he would refuse. Then, Jim’s eyes met his own, wide with awe. “Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Jim nodded and leaned into the Spock's hand, closing his eyes.

Spock swallowed. “My mind to your mind." Jim began mouthing along to the ceremonial words. "My thoughts to your thoughts. Our minds, one and together.”

****

The next morning, Spock woke to his bondmate's soft snoring, and he was content.